River Redux
by jkwasher
Summary: After the fire and storm pass, all that is left are ashes. Two souls becoming unexpectedly similar are drawn to the source of the storm to reflect and stir the warmth of the fire back to life.


_**A/N: Bonus Gift, clearing the decks in my fan fiction files in anticipation of Season 5. This is another version of down-the-road-a-bit Post-Season 4. It merits at least a second chapter, but Season 5 is almost upon us, which may take us in new directions.**_

 **River Redux**

 **Chapter 1**

I had been listening to a cowboy pour his heart out over the swollen knee of his favorite appaloosa pony when Ferg signaled me. Yes, we had developed unoriginal but prearranged signals. I was on my fourth beer, he was on his second. His meant, "You've had too many to drive, and unless you're charmed enough by this fella to go home with him, if you want a ride, we need to leave _now_."

Well, I wasn't charmed enough by the cowboy, only one had ever charmed me, and he apparently wasn't interested anymore. I gave Ferg the affirmative return nose rub we'd copied from The Sting, and he signaled the waitress for the check. He had the Charger with him, which possessed more guts but less ambience than his Trans Am. There were days I kinda missed the rough attributes of the Blue Beauty, but tonight the smooth and quiet ride nicely offset the beer.

"Back to Cady's?" he asked. He made that last in a hopeful tone, I knew he always liked to drive by there, or even say "hi," to her, but I wrinkled my nose.

"No, I just wanna go somewhere and think." I punctuated my words with a sigh.

At least I wasn't driving while full of beer. I needed a place away to just be me, be Vic. In an emergency or cloudburst I could walk home, or arrange for Ferg to pick me up in the morning, but there were times I was afraid I might be turning into Walt, needing time to think before talking or just dealing with humanity again. I had begun to seek out quiet places.

I didn't mean to be Debbie Downer, but in the absence of lively company, I mostly wanted my own. I missed the recent deputy departees, the quieter company of Zack as a younger Walt, and the easygoing fun of Eamonn. Eamonn may have been justified in calling me out over how I'd misused him over Walt, but we'd been able to party together. Ferg still seemed young to me, but tonight was a good examples the after-shift camaraderie we had only recently begun to share.

Oh, I have to admit, I even missed Branch. At least, a little. He hadn't been my favorite person, at least not toward the end, how he'd acted while camping, his hands on my throat, or the creepy break-in of my house. No, I missed his detecting instincts that led to his death. Not a team player, he stayed on-track developing into a decent detective—if he'd gotten the chance to pursue that. Instead, well, the alternative loomed dark and unbelievable and .still occasionally haunted my dreams, along with Chance Gilbert and other associated boogey men. Hence the urge to think it out on my own.

Ferg waved his hand, which distracted me from my wandering mind. "Where is it to be, milady?" I managed a tipsy smile at his expansive silliness, shook my head.

"I dunno." I thought a moment, that process slowed by beer and the shitty day preceding it. "Maybe the river?"

He paused. "You mean, where…?"

"Yeah," I said, almost apologetic. "Somehow it's become a touchstone place for me."

"You sad, or really sad tonight—or somethin'?" I wondered if it was his turn to be on VicWatch, to make sure I wasn't having any post-Chance personal apocalyptic episodes. I couldn't swear to it, but I had this conviction that he and Cady had set that up after things went so far south with Walt that to all appearances the "special relationship" had disappeared. I guessed early-on after Chance and the divorce, Walt had been the self-appointed VicWatch before that. I wondered if he had asked them to take over.

I shook my head. "Not really. Just tired, this has been a helluva week."

Ferg grunted acknowledgment.

It had been. Just that afternoon, I'd gotten scraped up arresting a sweet young thing for breaking her boyfriend's nose. There had also been way too many DUIs in the last few days, especially two from Colorado which turned out to be uber-stoners on that strong Colorado pot. Two days ago, one had lunged at me, nearly broken _my_ nose. Those arrests had been necessary in the course of things, but felt empty against the lure of bigger cases. What Walt and I—I amended that, what we _used to—_ work together and solve. It was mostly Walt alone now, without me, and it seemed like he rarely took Eamonn or even Ferg, anymore. Walt had turned into kind of a loner, sort of like how I was becoming, I guess.

I usually ended up back in the office or in a separate vehicle, but what I needed was a juicy murder to keep me focused and off the trivial county troubles I got buried by on a daily basis, the casino matters probably the most persistent and annoying. No one, not Ruby, nor Ferg, nor even Eamonn when he helped us out, said a word about my changed circumstances. I think they were afraid they might get me fired like Zach if they did.

The big Charger roared to life and we rumbled along the dirt road along the river, trying not to disturb any residual calm or lingering fishermen. As we got close, my heart sank that someone was already there, with headlights on. To my complete and utter surprise, that turned out to be Walt, skipping stones across the surface using the Bronco's headlights as giant flashlights to monitor his stones' progress.

I did not make the obvious _great minds think alike_ comment, but I was absolutely thinking it. Once, that had been us, the connection that we were more alike than different despite our backgrounds and appearances.

I used the button to put down the window. "Hey, Sheriff," I said conversationally. The Charger purred into a space next to the Bronco. Walt turned his head as we pulled in.

I knew that if Walt were annoyed, he'd say, "What are you doing here, Vic?" and I would skedaddle. I didn't want to interact, or take him out of Think Mode. In some ways, I knew him so well, like when I'd known he was pursuing Donna Monaghan. In other ways, he was the fucking most absolute mystery of the world and unfathomable to me. From my world, anyway.

"Hey." His voice was light. "Everything all right?" I took that to mean at the station, that neither Ruby nor Lucian were trying to locate him and the night was still calm in Absaroka County. He didn't sound annoyed, and I took that to heart.

One part of me wanted to flee. The other part, probably centered but buried deep somewhere in my heart, thudded, and wanted to stay.

"Fine. Ferg convinced me to try some of those fancy beers at the Pony. He gave me a lift out here so I could just hang for a while, just _be_ , I guess."

I saw him staring at my slightly swollen nose. Ice had not done much for it. I was definitely not at my best, despite my hair down and mustard yellow leather jacket civilian attire.

"Your truck?"

"At the station. Since you're already here, would you mind giving me a ride back in later?"

"Sure." He didn't sound put out. Good. No urgent need to skedaddle.

I waved Ferg off. He peeled out in a not-quite gravel-spewing exit.

I stared after the dressed down muscle car, slightly bemused while in my beery state. "He does love that Charger."

Withholding comment, Walt threw out another stone, which skipped four times, I know because I counted it. Laboriously through the beer haze, but I did.

"Nice." He and Omar always did have the best throwing techniques. I figured they must have spent a lot of time practicing as boys.

I wasn't melancholy, exactly, and it did comfort me to be there. Standing so close to Walt was another matter. Actually, _standing_ was another matter. I wasn't exactly stable. I sat down a little ways away from where he stood, arms wrapped around my bent knees, and cleared my throat. "Coming here, it's almost like mourning a little brother or son for me, you know?"

I guess I shocked him at that one, but still no reply.

"Branch always seemed so young, although he was what, only a couple of years younger than me? He and Ferg always seemed more like pesky younger brothers…or like sons in the county family."

"Pretty old for a son," he finally allowed, his voice gruff. He held a stone in his hand, but didn't throw it yet, just a look my way.

"I'm just sayin'. I don't remember when I started feeling this old."

"You're not old, Vic." He skipped out the stone. Five perfect skips. He was better than good at that. I envied his style.

"I'm only old as I feel, right? Inside, I feel that old." I picked up a stone and skipped it in the wake of his. Mine skipped only three times. "It wasn't always that way, wasn't that long ago, I even thought I might give you a son." Oops. It was out before I could stop it, and of course it was the beer, I'd indulged in the stronger craft brews Ferg had recommended. Now I cursed the alcohol content, because I was pretty sure I'd shocked Walt into absolute silence, retreat, or both. I lowered my forehead to my knees. I knew I'd spoken way out of turn.

He didn't say anything right away.

I tried to regroup. Awkward, too late. "Forget I said that. Too much beer." I sighed, and began to scramble up, when he abruptly moved closer and sat by me. One long arm came out to steady me, hand on my shoulder.

"You did?"

I made a noise through my nose, sort of shrugged it off. "After you asked me to stay." I really didn't want to talk about that, but maybe he needed to know I had been serious.

"Before you didn't trust me, anymore."

"Before the Jacob vendetta took over your head, and none of us who cared about you were anywhere in there with you at the time."

"That's when you stopped trusting me? Before the Rainier can?"

"Long before the can, or before you started dating Donna."

"After Barlow. Before you started dating Eamonn."

I snorted. "Before Barlow, and I never dated him. We hooked up once after I saw you and Donna together at the hospital. Eamonn was ammo to hurt you as much as you hurt me."

"I hurt _you?"_ He sounded astounded, as though I'd done it all.

" _Some people don't know how to end things. The exact nature of my relationship is none of your business._ Yeah. Gut-shots."

"But…you thought about kids with me?" He was back to that. The beer was making me a little foggy, now, if not dizzy, and I adjusted my perch along the bank. His hand was still at my shoulder to prevent any overt tumbles, but I wanted to shake it off. He did not control me.

"I thought about a lot of things. It seemed possible. We survived, Henry was free, and Sean was out of the picture. I didn't expect Branch, or the sequel."

There was a pause. "Vic, I asked you to stay. I haven't changed my mind. I thought—you and Eamonn—when I came back to the office, you were so… _cozy_. I thought you had found someone you preferred. Someone younger."

Now I rolled my eyes and made best snort of disbelief. It was unmistakable to anyone who knew me, but he wouldn't let it rest.

"That night you brought your possum here, you told me you were toxic to men. I've never believed that, but you were very upset and drunk that night—pushed me away—"

"Drunk on the beer I bought for you, that I thought might relax you into the idea of _us_. It all went so horribly wrong."

"You bought beer for me?" His forehead furrowed. "Did that have something to do with your message on my machine? I finally found that, just last week. It was…um, unexpected."

"Message. Yeah." My voice went up with sarcasm. "Hot mess with beer alert."

"You said you were going to stop by, but you never did—"

"Yeah, I did. Henry was there before me. He brought the tea box in from your saddlebag and went after you, like I wasn't even there." I looked Walt in the eye. I hadn't done that for a long time. "That's when he told me you had gone to kill Jacob to avenge Martha's death."

His eyes filled with pain. "Henry told you that? So it wasn't just the Rainier can, later, why you didn't trust me? I could never figure out why finding one can made you so certain I was guilty, and ready to lie for me."

"It's been a long year." I was tired, so tired. Tired of going it alone, living with a Type A room-mate, being mostly celibate, being poor, criticized at work, and unsuccessfully trying to drown my sorrows. It had not been a good one in any ways. "But, yeah, I knew."

"I listened to your message over and over. I usually just delete current messages. I didn't know there was one still on there. I had to look for the date it was left to try and figure out what happened, what it meant."

"Yeah, well, now you know. It was a long time ago, in another dimension of Twilight Zone that is Durant, where loving parents murder their sons." No way was I going to add the twists which included the murder of his wife Martha.

I stared out over the river. It had almost been a good time after a long, shitty time with Sean, now followed by a long, shitty time without Walt, or any true friend in Durant, really. He had become merely a boss frequently not happy with my work, like when Eammon and I found the identity that murdered girl left in the bus luggage. Who was to know he'd made a pact with Jacob the Devil Blankenship to keep it quiet that weekend?

"Vic—" It spoke. The monolith who could barely ask me to stay was using words.

He moved closer, leaned in a little. His hand moved across my back, and tentatively went around my shoulder. I stared over the water, my words suddenly having deserted me. It felt so right, yet I knew I couldn't let him charm me any more than I had the cowboy at the Pony. It was, after all, all superficial charm. I had been reminded of that often enough over the last few months. He fussed with a pile at his side.

"It's getting cold." He was right, of course. He wore what I thought of as his winter duty coat, heavy, leather, with capacious pockets, but I wore my mustard color leather jacket, which possessed hardly any warmth at all and barely a lining. It was solely and expressly for charming cowboys.

He unfolded and drew up the blanket lying beside him, which fortuitously didn't seem to be Dead Guy Blanket, and flung it around us both.

His nearness made me uncomfortable. I cleared my throat again and began to shift. "I can wait in the Bronco." His arm didn't move, or release.

"You came to think, I'll be quiet, we can think together for a while. I like it here, too. This place gives me peace when I have a hard time finding any."

I relaxed. The cicadas were in the background. While near the water it was decidedly brisk for an early fall evening, lulled by a combination of his and the blanket's warmth, I succumbed. Well, the beer probably helped. Anyway, I succumbed.

I don't know exactly when, but as I blinked my eyes awake, I was being carried in Walt's arms. I began to struggle.

"Shoot," he said with a grunt and laugh, "I thought I might get you back to Cady's without waking you." He set me on my feet in front of the passenger door.

"I'm not a kid," I said, defensive, although I somewhat spoiled the effect by rubbing at my crusty eyes.

"No, you're not." But it was said in a gentle, teasing voice. Maybe the voice he used to cajole would-be murderers or recalcitrant horses.

He swung open the door and boosted me onto the passenger seat. We buckled up in nar silence, as the Bronco threw out its throaty rumble. I had slept many a mile to that lullaby. He looked over.

"My cabin's closer, if you're willing? I'll sleep on the couch." It was as though he wanted to make the point that either he wasn't attempting, or I wasn't worth, seduction.

"I know it's closer." That was undeniably true. His motive was of more interest to me.

His head went down. "Cady's then." His lips were bunched as though I'd rejected him.

I sighed, just wanting to return to sleep. His presence was most troubling when he got quiet. "The cabin's fine. I'll sleep on the couch. Let me text Cady I'm safe and have a couch for the night."

"Don't text that," he said, even softer.

"What should I text?" I was kind of grumpy, half-awake and still a little drunk.

"Just tell her you're safe and you'll see her tomorrow."

"All right." It was a small omission. I began to text with my tongue between my lips. I did it before I realized I had no bars. "Ah, shit. I guess I have to wait 'til we get to the main road to get a signal."

"Okay. Look, Vic, we should talk, either tonight or some night soon."

Well, _that_ came out of nowhere. I stared at him. "It's all right, Walt. It's all been said. You were very clear in the alley." I had to swallow to get it out.

"No. It hasn't been said at all. If you'd rather, we can talk now."

What _hadn't_ been said? Nothing I could imagine. Shit, was I about to get _fired?_ I managed to get out, "Whatever. If you want to talk, I'm listening. Captive audience." Terrified, more like.

He watched the road ahead as he pulled out. "As much as anything else, I would love you to try and give me a son." He paused. I was attempting not to fall off the seat at that declaration. No fumbling for words, there.

"But if you don't want children, I think we could be happy together."

What _was_ this? Some sort of extended-episode of the Twilight Zone that was Durant? I tried to make sense of it. "Don't joke, Walt. Don't make light of it. It all went in the crapper, and we can't just snap our fingers and fix it like it never happened."

"That night by the river, in the middle of the crime scene with your possum on the bank, I said maybe we only have to get it right once. Maybe…maybe _this_ is that once. Do you think you can at least consider it? I think you were on the right track with the beer, for a start. We were both thinking about more, and the hurricane around us just swept it all away. We…never gave it a chance."

"We?"

"I—I wasn't there for you. I'm first to admit it."

"No…you were so sure it was Jacob. I still think he's guilty, but of other things around Martha's murder, not the murder itself. Ferg says you're still making using Branch to avoid decisions involving deputies."

"Ferg told you that?"

"Shit, yes. He's still really worried about Zach. Zach is healing, but no more than you or me. He needed us. He needed to be one of our family. Branch never did, he just need _a_ real family and investigate on his own."

I stopped. I had already said too much. I put my head in my hands.

He looked surprised. "I thought…"

"I hope you thought I didn't want you to pay for Jacob's crimes. I want him to see justice for the crimes he did commit, not some blind vigilante thing which would only serve to punish us all for the rest of our lives."

I shocked him. I turned my face away.

From the muted dash lights, his face turned ot me. "You all needed me, and I wasn't there for you." He said it with regret, a good start, but not enough for me.

" _I_ wasn't here for me." I pressed my fingers to my forehead. Neither the beer nor need for sleep would leave me be. "Look, we can't fix this tonight."

"Vic, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. Sean's gone, Donna's out of the picture…could we…maybe try again?"

I tsked. "We didn't try _before_. What, you mean, more beer?"

"If that's what it takes, but I'm thinking more. I'm willing."

Something protective reared in me. "I don't think so. Too many cowboys."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"They always try to charm you." Somehow I sounded drunk again, to myself. Never a good feeling for controlling one's words.

One corner of his mouth turned up. "They never try to charm _me_."

"Well, they try to charm _me_. But I'm not easily persuaded. Ask Ferg."

" _All_ cowboys?" His voice went all light and flirty, like I should know the answer to this one.

Unfortunately, I didn't. My voice hitched. "I—don't know."

"Maybe it's too soon for the more. If you want, I could join you on the couch and promise to just hold you tonight. A start toward more."

"Yeah, well, if you do that, neither of us will get any sleep. I am fully conversant on biology."

"Neither of us may, anyway."

Where did this flirty side erupt from? My eyes must have gotten big.

He gave that cryptic Walt smile. "You're safe with me, Vic. You know I'll always keep you safe. You know I've tried to before."

I thought about him fighting the duel with Chance, about the midnight motel visit to Gorski, of him waltzing Branch into a jail cell away from my throat after Branch had marked it.

"Maybe. But—can you keep _you_ safe?"

His head turned, eyes narrowed, and glinted in the dark. His words were very soft. "Maybe I don't want to be?"

That lobbed the ball back into my court. I had to decide what I wanted, whether I could trust him with my heart, whether there was anything left in the ashes.

That was the real question, wasn't it?


End file.
